[There's blood on their fingers and marks on their souls, the scars from where they've been taken apart and reassembled, inside out. But like this, they choose and accept the marks, the cuts and scrapes and bruises. She likes his hands on her, the marks he leaves, whether it's on her hips or her throat or any other inch of skin.
It's part of why she likes the weight of the collar around her throat, perhaps. Not a mark, exactly, not something that aches on her skin, but it's something he gave her and she accepted. Her submission to him, such as it is, is a choice. Something freely given because he's earned that trust.
She smiles softly as he talks about binding her to the bed and spanking her until her ass is bright red. It makes her pulse race, a thrill that curls inside of her at the idea of it, the feel of his fingers on her skin, leaving a different kind of mark. Pale skin turned red, and sometimes bruises linger after the red fades, and she thinks of him every time she sits down and has to struggle not to squirm.
She moans, hot and heavy, her head falling back and her body shaking as he pushes two of his fingers inside of her. She's slick and wet around his fingers and she whimpers, but nods at his words. As if there was any doubt, anyone that knew her body as well as he did, that knew how to take her apart, hit all those sweet spots inside of her.]
James--
[She doesn't really ask, usually, but sometimes it's there in the hum of her voice.]
no subject
It's part of why she likes the weight of the collar around her throat, perhaps. Not a mark, exactly, not something that aches on her skin, but it's something he gave her and she accepted. Her submission to him, such as it is, is a choice. Something freely given because he's earned that trust.
She smiles softly as he talks about binding her to the bed and spanking her until her ass is bright red. It makes her pulse race, a thrill that curls inside of her at the idea of it, the feel of his fingers on her skin, leaving a different kind of mark. Pale skin turned red, and sometimes bruises linger after the red fades, and she thinks of him every time she sits down and has to struggle not to squirm.
She moans, hot and heavy, her head falling back and her body shaking as he pushes two of his fingers inside of her. She's slick and wet around his fingers and she whimpers, but nods at his words. As if there was any doubt, anyone that knew her body as well as he did, that knew how to take her apart, hit all those sweet spots inside of her.]
James--
[She doesn't really ask, usually, but sometimes it's there in the hum of her voice.]